If I Met Myself

I would—honestly—hate myself. I don’t think I can really like a hypocrite of such magnitude.

Seriously. Sometimes, I’m impressed by myself. For example, I write something or describe something. I set it down or submit it. Later, (and by later, I mean anytime more than a few hours) I look at it again and am instantly attracted to it. I’ve forgotten that I wrote it (because I’m an idiot), but all I know is that, “Hey, this person is interesting. This person can think.” Then I remember who wrote it, and I feel impressed.

Sometimes, I meet someone who shares a few traits with me. I hate them. No questions asked.

Sometimes, I write something, and I feel that whoever wrote that is a jerk when I forget it. I hate them.

I’m just too damn hypocritical.

And sometimes, I fill out a survey. A year or two later, I fill it out again, with new knowledge and everything; only, I’ve forgotten that I’ve already done that survey. The website shows me the survey from before, and I’m surprised that my answers are almost exactly the same. I feel like a completely different person wrote that past survey, yet the answers are the same.

Knowing this, you’d think that when I clean my room and leave something somewhere, I’d find it again. I think, “Knowing myself, I think I would have left this summer homework sheet in the things-for-summer-work-kind-of pile” and it turns out that it’s not there. It’s somewhere completely different.

Why can’t I surprise myself with my past self thinking like my current self whenever I’m looking for something I misplaced?!

My Watercolors

I’ve a nice set of watercolor paints. I keep them in a bag with my bottle of ink, my calligraphy brushes, and my past paintings with those watercolors. I like watercolors, a lot. I keep the bag in the closet next to the garage.

Right now, in Spanish class, we’ve been painting self-portraits. We’re learning about Spanish artists and art terms, so my teacher decided this would be fun. It’s due tomorrow, and I had to take it home to finish because I couldn’t after-school, as I had piano lessons. It was already half-finished, half-painted. I was looking forward to using my paints at home. Really, I like watercolors.

But I can’t find my paints. I’ve looked everywhere. The last I’ve seen them was before my parents “re-organized” the house, for new windows.

Well, my parents are accusing me of being negligent, and that the paints are in my room, or something. I’ve never taken those paints to my room. Ever.

I’d forgive them for assuming, but they’re yelling at me, saying that those missing paints are my fault, and I remember when I last used/put them. They are not there. I found the past paintings abandoned in the room o’ junk, but I can’t find anything else. My dad exploded with rage.

I am a brat.

Multi-Crossover Fanfiction

I rather like crossover fanfiction. Though, it is the scum of all fanfiction, I’ve always found it interesting. Or at least, interesting when I find a story written by an author who likes to show how excellent their skill is in making another’s characters alive.

But MULTI-CROSSOVERS. Not just two, never three. There is always an interesting thing where there is a story with five different characterverses in one. And I’d read these, except for the fact that:

1. They are always written by idiots.
2. There’s always a fandom that I’ve never read/watch into.
3. That fandom is one that I want to read/watch into:
   1. Discworld
   2. Firefly
   3. Star trek
   4. Lost

Well, I don’t think Lost would be good for fanfiction, anyway. But it’s always there.